


The Kitchen is Hot but You're Hotter

by nackledamia



Series: The adventures of Chef!James [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Hell's Kitchen AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 23:56:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13728708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nackledamia/pseuds/nackledamia
Summary: Hell's Kitchen AU.James is a chef with dreams.Thomas Jefferson is a dream.Chef Ramsay helps James achieve his dreams.





	The Kitchen is Hot but You're Hotter

**Author's Note:**

> For [tuve](http://levtuve.tumblr.com) you rock man
> 
> We've been watching lots of Ramsay shows recently so we made a jeffmads au in the culinary world.
> 
> Ps I know nothing about cooking.
> 
> Please enjoy?
> 
> NOTE: Speeches in italics are confession cam admissions.

An executive chef at 23 years old, James knew everyone had their eyes on him.

He was a strong competitor, single-handedly carrying the blue team to victory during the last few challenges. He received constant praise during dinner services. He was picked again and again by guest judges to have his creations featured on the dinner service menu.

James was efficient, focused and communicative in the kitchen; all the qualities a chef needed to succeed.

_“It’s ridiculous how frequently James wins challenges. It’s almost like this show is rigged.”_

_”James is undoubtedly the strongest member on the blue team.”_

Out of the kitchen, James preferred to stay out of the drama and kept to himself. While other contestants celebrated surviving another round of elimination every night or dragged each other into another screaming match, James would be reading in bed or having an early night. He spoke only when spoken to and wasn’t very expressive of his emotions.

_“James is a great chef but we know nothing else about him. He is a mystery; he keeps to himself. He has no alliances, no friends among us. If he ever messes up, no one will have his back.”_

There were only 8 of them left, out of the original 18 that started. James knew that it was going to be another two or three dinner services before they were given black jackets. James recognised that the tension in and out the kitchen was growing; jealousy was building, sabotages were being planned.

_“Of course I’m jealous of James! Everyone is! Everyone wants him eliminated but no one knows how to do it.”_

_“James is the only one standing between me and the head chef position I’m going to win. My only plan right now is to get him out of my way by any means necessary.”_

James knew that everyone was waiting for him to screw up, to fumble. He would be put up for elimination the moment he did. James also knew that Chef Ramsay was watching to see if he could keep his level of quality through the pressure and James was determined to keep up his quality of food.

“Tonight, we have very special guests joining us at the VIP Tables.”

James straightened. VIP Tables added another level of stress in the kitchen but they were an opportunity to shine and impress Chef Ramsay that they could excel under pressure.

“For the red team, you are privileged to be cooking for America’s newest obsession; model, actor and rapper Thomas Jefferson.”

The women gasped, firm determination and passionate resolution to do well in their “Yes, chef!” response. The men nodded solemnly, recognising the name; some groaning that _they_ would not be the ones impressing Thomas Jefferson.

“For the blue team, you will be pleased to be cooking for…”

James tuned Chef Ramsay out for the first time as his mind raced to analyse the information they had just been given.

Thomas Jefferson.

James was not one to follow celebrity gossip but he too had heard of Thomas Jefferson.

He was America’s newest household name. He blew up from absolutely nowhere and often spoke in interviews of how grateful he was to be where he is now. He was loved for his witty remarks yet humble attitude towards learning.

James didn’t know much about Thomas Jefferson but he seemed to be rather easy-going and shouldn’t be much of a distraction in the kitchen (unlike other celebrities that remarked loudly on their every action).

“Yes, Chef!” James chimed in with the rest of the blue team, drawing out of his thoughts and back to the present.

"Marino!” Chef Ramsay called as they headed to their assigned stations for the night. James was on the meat station and immediately slipped into familiar habits; preparing the proteins and heating up pans. “Open Hell's Kitchen."

As the dining area began to fill, James filtered out the noise and focused on what was happening in the kitchen. If he could remain consistent for the next few challenges and dinner services, a black jacket would be his to claim.

“Blue team! First table!”

“Yes, chef!” James responded with the rest of the men. He didn’t need to do much at his station while they were still serving appetisers; he just had to listen and step in to help if anyone needed assistance.

James caught a tall, unfamiliar purple figure out of the corner of his eyes, stepping into the red kitchen. The clash of dark purple against bright red had James looking up from his pans and turning his attention to the figure sitting down at the red team’s VIP table.

Thomas Jefferson said something to Marino, who had escorted him in. He nodded his thanks as Marino left and turned his attention to the red kitchen with a winning smile; waving a hand at the female chefs.

James wanted to laugh at Jefferson’s choice of suit. It was an expensive tailor-made suit that hugged his figure in all the right places but it was of a ridiculous colour. James found the corner of his lips twitching into a smile of admiration instead; Jefferson could wear any colour and it would look ridiculously good on him.

James noticed that despite the bright smile he was wearing, Jefferson had his elbows on the table and was nervously wringing his hands together. James could basically hear Jeffersons’ anxious feet tapping under the table, hidden by the tablecloth.

One of the female chefs headed over to Jefferson and struck up a conversation. Jefferson kept the brightness in his eyes and the forced smile on his face as he spoke to her. His elbows left the table and James watched him fidget where he sat and rub his palms against his lap in an attempt to remain calm and collected.

Jefferson might put up a show of confidence but James picked up the little actions Jefferson was unconsciously doing that gave away how he really felt. He wasn’t used to or comfortable with the famous life yet. James appreciated his unconscious honesty.

The female chef finally left his table and Jefferson dropped his grin, lips curling into an O as he exhaled in relief. His eyes drifted out of the red kitchen into the blue kitchen. James subconsciously offered Jefferson a small, reassuring smile as his apprehensive eyes landed on him.

Jefferson suddenly straightened where he sat, eyes widening at he stared straight at James. There was a new light in his eyes; intense and focused. James furrowed his brows in response, wondering what he had done for Jefferson to be staring at him like that.

“JAMES!”

James jumped, startled, quickly turning back to face Chef Ramsay. He bit his lip as he noticed the ticket in Chef Ramsay’s hand. They must have started on entrées and his attention hadn’t been in the kitchen.

“Did you hear the ticket orders?” Chef Ramsay demanded to know, leaning forward in his intimidating stance.

James had never been the target of Chef Ramsay’s temper and he didn’t want to ever experience one.

“No chef,” James cast his gaze down, fiddling with the handle of the pan. He couldn’t afford a lapse of focus now. He couldn’t be distracted by Thomas Jefferson. He was so close to getting a black jacket.

“First table of entrées; two New York Strip Steaks. Pay attention, James!” Chef Ramsay shouted, exasperated, turning away.

_“I don’t know what James was staring at but he was losing his focus in the kitchen. Tonight might be the night he’s eliminated.”_

“Yes, chef!” James returned the shout, pressing the meat into the pan. “Five minutes, chef!”

Searing both sides of the steak, James plopped the butter in and began bathing the steak. While his hands moved on autopilot, James’ eyes darted up in a sudden, unfamiliar movement, gazing across the kitchen at Thomas Jefferson.

What was it about Thomas Jefferson that he couldn’t take his eyes off him? Why was he so distracted by Jefferson? Why couldn’t he focus on his role in the kitchen?

Jefferson was still watching him, still staring at him. When he noticed that James was staring back, his (dare James call it, starstruck?) expression morphed into something a little more confident, a little more… inviting. James wasn’t sure if he liked the smirk at Jefferson’s lips, or the way Jefferson wriggled his eyebrows suggestively at him. It was clear Jefferson had practised this flirty charm many times and was now using it on James.

Despite himself, James let a laugh escape his lips. Jefferson seemed surprised at James’ response- he hadn’t expected his practised gestures to work- then relaxed at his seat as a genuine smile lit up his face.

James could stare at that perfect smile forever.

_“The ever-stoic James suddenly laughs out of nowhere, staring distantly across the kitchen, so we followed his gaze to see none other than Thomas Jefferson flirting with him. What’s going on?!”_

“The steak’s not at a fucking spa, James! How long do you want to bathe it in butter?”

James snapped his attention back to Chef Ramsay, blinking rapidly as he looked down at his slowly overcooking steak and back up at Chef Ramsay.

“Sorry, chef!” James yelled, taking the steak out of the pan and placing it on the metal tray. “Two steaks, walking!”

“Get your head back in the kitchen, James!” Chef Ramsay slammed a hand on the table, “You are so close to a black jacket. Do you really want to be eliminated now?”

_“Oh, boy. When Chef Ramsay threatens you with elimination, you know you messed up big time.”_

“No, chef!” James responded, mentally berating himself as he grabbed a new pan, ready for the next order. How could he let himself lose focus of his goals? What was it about Jefferson that he couldn’t peel his eyes away from?

James cast his gaze back at Jefferson, hoping to figure out what about him was making him stare.

“This isn’t like you, James! What are you staring at!” Chef Ramsay was irked, coming up beside him to see what he was looking at. James stiffened with Chef Ramsay’s close proximity. Jefferson chose this moment to wink at James.

Chef Ramsay paused, staring between James and Jefferson. There was a new light in Chef Ramsay’s gaze, something… knowing? That strange look in his eyes quickly faded and Chef Ramsay turned back to plate the steaks James had just sent up. 

James looked back down at his pans, hiding the blush dusting his cheeks more than attempting to focus on his cooking again. James shifted his weight and tampered with the heat of the stoves. He swallowed. That was the last time. He would not be distracted by Jefferson again.

“JAMES!” Chef Ramsay called out and James looked up at him.

“Yes chef!” James responded, stumbling back slightly with the force Chef Ramsay used to shove the plated New York Strip Steak into his hands.

“Perfect steak! If you’re so obsessed with our VIP guest in the red kitchen, why don’t you serve him your steak and see how much he likes it?” Chef Ramsay told him, his voice as loud as ever but his tone was… gentle, almost. Encouraging, even.

_“It’s not fair. First, James is the best and most consistent chef this season. Next, the one moment he fumbles up, it’s because Thomas fucking Jefferson took an interest in him, and Chef Ramsay isn’t even mad!”_

James looked back at Chef Ramsay for confirmation as he walked across the kitchens. He didn’t want seem more interested in Jefferson than winning the competition. Chef Ramsay only crossed his arms and returned an expectant look. James turned away from Chef Ramsay just in time to bump into Jefferson’s table. Jefferson laughed at James’ clumsiness and James burned red with embarrassment.

Up close, Jefferson was even more beautiful. James wanted to blame the perfect make-up or the expensive suit for his beauty but Jefferson’s eyes shone with a natural glow that James couldn’t look away from. His soft smile dimmed the brightest star and caused James to fumble with his words.

“Um, hi, uh, Mr Jefferson,” James muttered, clattering the plate onto the table. “Um, New York Strip Steak. Uh, enjoy.”

James turned to run, wanting to disappear, only to feel Jefferson’s hand curling around his wrist, holding him back. Jefferson’s grip was soft and James could pull his hand away if he wanted to. Instead, James found himself yearning for more than just that light touch between them.

“Sit with me?” Jefferson said in a honey-sweet voice that curled with a southern accent James was familiar with. James widened his eyes. There was no way Jefferson was from Virginia too.

James looked up at Chef Ramsay for help but Chef Ramsay only raised an eyebrow and gestured at Jefferson in a wordless command for James to accept his invitation.

James plopped himself onto the seat opposite Jefferson, eyes fixed on the table before him. He knew Jefferson had his eyes on him and that knowledge made his cheeks flush, but he avoided looking back at Jefferson.

“You made this steak, James?” Jefferson asked him. James felt his cheek heat further with the way Jefferson said his name with so much warmth and affection. He nodded and was silent as Jefferson sliced a piece of steak and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it slowly, thoughtfully, before swallowing it. “It’s amazing, James. I love it,” Jefferson told him, a smile in his voice.

“Thank you, Mr Jefferson,” James ducked his head further down to hide the darkening blush at his cheeks.

_“THE Thomas Jefferson liked my food…”_

“It’s Thomas,” Jefferson- Thomas- told him, reaching a long arm across the table and placing it firmly on James’ shoulder. James flicked his eyes up to look into Thomas’ lukewarm gaze and beautiful smile. “Please call me Thomas.”

“Okay,” James said in response, hating the way his nervous voice emerged a little high-pitched. James cleared his throat before repeating, “Okay, Mr J- Mr Thomas. I mean, Thomas.”

Thomas beamed, gaining even more confidence with this success. He slid across the curved seat so they were side-by-side and took James’ hand in his. James was caught off guard with the sudden intimacy but quickly grasped Thomas’ hand back. Thomas’ touch was gentle, careful, wary of personal barriers. A part of him wanted to show Thomas that he was fine with contact and wanted more; wanted to rest his head on Thomas’ shoulder, but that was just unprofessional.

“I want you to show me what else you can do,” Thomas said, his voice a smooth, practised rumble. “Can I watch you in the kitchen? I bet you’re good with your hands.”

James briefly wondered if that was an innuendo and decided it must be with Thomas’ follow-up chuckle. He would have usually rolled his eyes at such a joke but James found himself smiling in amusement instead.

“No, but seriously, can I watch? Can you teach me? Do you want to like, just… chill backstage?” Thomas offered, his wit and charm failing him at the end. Thomas visibly cringed at his attempt to ask James out and James decided that he had made their VIP guest uncomfortable enough. What did he think he was doing? He was here to cook, not find a date.

“I should really get back to my station now,” James told Thomas, pulling his hand out of Thomas’ grip and standing up hurriedly. He wiped his sweaty hands on his apron and looked up at Thomas to say goodbye. James’ sinking heart mirrored the emotions he saw in Thomas’ disappointed, fallen expression but he ignored the fluttering feeling in his stomach and set his jaw, hardening his gaze. He was losing focus of his goals. Why was he so interested to spend time with Thomas Jefferson? Did he not want to win head chef and a quarter million dollars anymore?

“James, I just-” Thomas tried to find a path through James’ rejection, words failing him once again. His career had helped him master his initial charm but nothing had prepared him for a rejection and Thomas was struggling to find an appropriate response.

_“I don’t know what James was thinking. A handsome millionaire just asked him out and he turned Thomas Jefferson down! Why!?”_

“Goodbye, Mr Jefferson, it was nice meeting you,” James mumbled, hurrying back to the blue kitchen.

Chef Ramsay came up to him just as James found his bearings in the blue kitchen again.

“So, James, how did it go?” Chef Ramsay leaned forward and asked in a low voice, eyes glinting with knowing pride.

“I’m not here to find a date, chef,” James told him, eyes cast down at the new batch of steaks he was making. “I’m here to win.”

There was a moment of shocked silence from Chef Ramsay and James took the few seconds of Chef Ramsay’s speechlessness to steal a look at Thomas. Thomas had his face buried in his hands, the rest of his food untouched.

Chef Ramsay suddenly bristled beside him and James looked up in surprise. Wasn’t Chef Ramsay proud that James was focused on his duties as a contestant, in the kitchen? Hadn’t he shown his commitment to the competition by rejecting Thomas? Why did Chef Ramsay seem unimpressed; disappointed, even?

“Get out of the kitchen,” Chef Ramsay growled. James tightened his grip around the pan handle.

He hadn’t rejected Thomas Jefferson for this.

“Why, chef? I’m here, I’m committed to winning and I’ve proven it. I haven’t sent up a single bad protein all night. I don’t deserve to be sent out of the kitchen,” James retorted, voice rising with every word.

Around him, the blue kitchen fell silent at his sudden outburst.

He was allowed to have this outburst. He had turned Thomas Jefferson down for this stupid competition. He didn’t deserve to be sent out of the kitchen, didn’t deserve to be eliminated, didn’t deserve to be sent home.

As he returned Chef Ramsay’s glare, James felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. He had never felt so strongly for anything else. He was here to _win_ and nothing would get in his way. He wanted to propel through the chef ranks and be the head chef at a large restaurant. _Nothing would get in his way._

“Get the fuck out of my kitchen!” Chef Ramsay roared into his face.

_“Whoops, looks like James is going home today.”_

James flipped the pan in his hand over, frustrated, splattering the oil and ruining the meat before he stomped out of the kitchen.

He flopped down on a couch in the common room, sniffling and wiping away the tears gathering in his eyes before they spilled down his cheeks.

He had played the game so safely until _stupid Thomas Jefferson_ came along and ruined his entire game formula. Why did he think what they had between them would work anyway? Jefferson was a worldwide star and he was but another chef with dreams. It didn’t matter how much his heart _yearned_ for Thomas Jefferson. To Jefferson, he was just another boy to toy with.

A knuckle knocked against the wall behind him and James stood up, his head bowed as he turned around. This was his chance of redemption.

“Chef, I apologise for my outburst. I really do want to be in this competition. I have given up _everything_ to be here. I want to return to the kitchen; I want to finish dinner service and be judged fairly for my performance. Please, chef?”

The silence that followed had James shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. The figure shuffled forward and to James’ dismay, it wasn’t Chef Ramsay. It was stupid purple stupid distraction stupidly handsome Thomas Jefferson.

“James, I-” Jefferson began, before James interrupted him.

“If you’re here to apologise for ruining my chances at winning this competition, you’re too late. I already lost and I already hate you,” James snapped, crossing his arms and turning away.

He hoped that Jefferson would walk away with that rejection but instead Jefferson wrapped his long arms around James’ waist, pulling him into a hug from behind.

“What are you doing? I said no-” James struggled to pull himself out of Thomas’ arms but Thomas clasped his hands in front of James, resting his head on James’ shoulder from behind. There was no escape.

James hated that he enjoyed being held in Thomas’ arms. He hated that he didn’t want to pull himself out of Thomas’ arms. He hated that he wanted Thomas to hold him forever.

Thomas was a dream come true; a dream he had no chance of achieving. Being head chef was a dream he was working towards but had now lost his chances of obtaining. He had lost everything. All his dreams had been ruined.

James slumped in Thomas’ arms, defeated, choking out a sob. Thomas whirled him around in his arms slowly, turning James so they faced each other before wrapping him back in a hug.

James cried into Thomas’ shoulder, ruining his purple suit.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered in his ear, his voice strangled, genuinely heartbroken. “I understand if you hate me. I just- I saw you and suddenly everything in the world made sense. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to ask you out but I’m… I’m not very good at it. I’ve never asked someone out before. I’m sorry if I ruined everything.”

“You’re Thomas Jefferson,” James scoffed through his tears, “There’s no way I’m your first.”

“Yes way,” Thomas chuckled softly, pulling apart and guiding James to take a seat back on the couch.

As Thomas draped an arm around his shoulder, James pressed himself into Thomas’ side before he realised what he was doing. There was something about the way they molded together so naturally made everything feel so right. There was something about Thomas that James couldn’t stay mad at; that was so genuine and honest and warm that James wanted to stay comforted by him forever. 

Still, they had barely met each other for 15 minutes now and James pulled himself out of Thomas’ arms, sitting alone at the edge of the couch, sniffling. Thomas seemed to understand that he had crossed boundaries and let James be.

“I’m sorry if I was too forward,” Thomas continued, “I don’t know how to approach someone I really like.”

“You really like me?” James whispered without turning around.

“I do,” Thomas responded and James could hear, could _feel_ the genuinity in his voice. Nothing about his confession was an act. Nothing about his confession was career-trained. He really liked James.

James allowed himself a smile, wiping his teary cheeks with a sleeve.

“Why me, out of everyone in the world?” James queried. “I’m nothing special.”

Thomas huffed in response, shifting closer to him.

“Have you seen yourself? You’re so focused and driven. You love what you do. The moment I saw you, I was like ‘I want to be more like that guy’. You’re insanely handsome. It makes me wonder why you’re not a model,” Thomas said, wonderment in his voice.

“I’m a chef,” James told him.

“Soon-to-be head chef,” Thomas encouraged eagerly.

“Soon-to-be nothing,” James corrected him and sighed, “Chef Ramsay is going to eliminate me after my disrespect to him tonight.”

“Chef Ramsay isn’t going to cut a wonderful chef like you just because you found love,” Thomas told him firmly, shifting even closer so they were side-by-side.

“Love,” James echoed.

Yeah, he could see himself and Thomas falling in love. Maybe they would be together for five years. Or ten years. Or the rest of their lives.

James’ heart warmed with the possibility.

Thomas’ arm snaked around his waist tentatively and James didn’t pull away this time, relaxing in Thomas’ grip. Thomas took that as permission and pulled James a little closer. James didn’t stop him, humming his approval as he rested his head on Thomas’ shoulder in response.

He could practically feel the smile lifting at Thomas’ lips.

“I’m going home tonight,” James argued, returning to the topic at hand.

“You _are_ going home,” Thomas agreed.

James bit his lip and closed his eyes. He knew it. He’d never be head chef now.

“You’re going home… with me,” Thomas finished with a laugh.

James lifted his head from Thomas’ shoulder and turned to face him, punching him in the chest.

“Ow, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll stop,” Thomas amended, but he was smiling widely and James felt a smile break across his own tear-stained face.

James snuggled back into Thomas’ side, closing his eyes.

“In all seriousness,” Thomas continued, “Chef Ramsay was the one who sent me after you. He told me ‘Don’t let him go’ and that you are immune from elimination tonight. He wants me to spend as much time as I needed to win you over.”

“I’m immune?” James sat up straight, then stood up.

“What’s wrong?”

“That’s unfair to the rest of the chefs! I have to earn my immunity! I’m going back to the kitchen,” James said, turning to hurry back into the kitchen.

A firm hand from behind rested on his shoulder, stopping him and turning him back around. Thomas held him close, taking both his hands and squeezing them lightly. James looked up and met Thomas’ gaze, seeing nothing but honesty and devotion.

“This is why I love you already,” Thomas whispered. James opened his mouth to argue about how they’ve only known each other for half an hour but Thomas rested a finger on his lips. “You don’t have to say it yet,” he assured, firmness in his voice, “I’m willing to take however long it takes to win your love.”

James smiled and allowed Thomas to walk him back into the kitchen.

Chef Ramsay’s eyes glinted with pride as they emerged together and James took his place at the meat station again.

“How was it?” James heard Chef Ramsay mutter to Thomas. Thomas lifted a thumbs up and Chef Ramsay nodded his approval.

Thomas invited himself into the blue kitchen’s VIP guest table, forcing the other VIP guests to scoot over for him.

Chef Ramsay turned to James, the last ticket in his hand.

“James! Two Beef Wellingtons! How long?”

“Five minutes, chef!” James yelled back, feeling much more lighthearted and able to focus on cooking now that things between him and Thomas had been settled.

“GO, JAMES!” Thomas hollered.

Well, maybe his focus was still a little divided.

_“I can’t believe James got out of a dinner service because a celebrity was interested in him and Chef Ramsay wanted to play matchmaker, but James returned to dinner service anyway. Is he stupid or something? I would love to get out of dinner service any way I could.”_

“He’s a keeper,” Chef Ramsay leaned forward and told James in a low voice, his eyes twinkling, before whisking off to the red kitchen to yell at them.

James only felt his cheeks warm again, smiling to himself.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know if it's terrible
> 
> [TUVE MADE ART FOR THIS AU](https://levtuve.tumblr.com/post/171031780954/h-ey-yall-should-read-this-by-nackledamia-they-r)
> 
> [talk to me on tumblr!](http://nackledamia.tumblr.com)
> 
> [talk to tuve on tumblr!](http://levtuve.tumblr.com)


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